


the future must be met

by elegantstupidity



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Divergence - Robert's Rebellion, First Meetings, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-13 10:36:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15362691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elegantstupidity/pseuds/elegantstupidity
Summary: “The dragon has three heads,” Rhaegar had once said. Of course, he meant that it had and would again. And that all three heads must needs someday unite.And so, Elia Martell and her children were brought south to meet her husband’s new wife.





	the future must be met

**Author's Note:**

  * For [septmars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/septmars/gifts).



> Happy Every Woman Ex, septmars! 
> 
> title from _North and South_ by Elizabeth Gaskell

Many times while shut away on that dungeon of an island, languishing in her marriage bed as she recovered from the rigors of childbirth, Elia had wished to see Dorne one last time. Surrounded by a true sea, wild waves and storms that she did not understand, she had only wanted the sea of sand she had known as a child. The few times she was brought to the capital, her wishes were no different. She did not need to learn the currents and machinations of the court to know she would trade the Red Keep for the Red Mountains in a single heartbeat. And not just for herself. Mostly, Elia had dreamed of showing her children that life was not just the cramped streets of King’s Landing or the black, smoky walls of Dragonstone, that there was a world that stretched as far as the sky itself, filled with sand and wind and heat and, best of all, freedom.

This was not how she had thought it might come to pass.

At least she had survived the journey. Elia had not been certain that she would. The long sail south had robbed her of what little strength she had regained since Aegon’s birth. While Elia wished she could say the trek through sandy hills she’d once known so well had revived her, she felt only exhaustion.

If she were Oberyn, or even Doran, she would look upon this not as an ordeal, but an adventure. Elia had yet to have a real one of her own. After all, she had been a princess all her life; there wasn’t much excitement or mystery in simply marrying a prince. 

However, she was only herself. 

Not even the sight of the tower—"Our destination is the Tower of Joy," had said Ser Gerold when he relieved her uncle Lewyn of his duty at the coast; there was not a hint of that particular emotion on his face, only grim worry—peaking through a gap in the mountains was enough to energize her. Distantly, Elia felt relief. The wheelhouse had been an improvement on the pitching and rocking of the ship and the close confines of the barge that carried them from the sea to Kingsgrave, but it had not been designed for the shifting sands of Dorne. If she never saw the contraption again, she would be grateful.

Soon, though, the journey, ordeal or adventure, would be over. Soon, her children would be reunited with their father and she with her husband. 

In all likelihood, with a new wife at his side. 

Her brothers no doubt disapproved, but Elia would rather live to see her children become legends than give her life in the pursuit of creating one. Carrying Aegon had been such a trial, there was no way she would survive the birth of a third babe. And without a third, where would the dragon be?  She had known, when Rhaegar last left her on Dragonstone with Aegon at her breast and Rhaenys in the nursery, what she sent her husband to find. She had known that this—coming face to face with a new Targaryen bride—would be the outcome. 

(Had she known the whole of it—the coming bloodshed and anguish and fear—perhaps Elia would have told him to wait.) 

Part of her wondered if this Lyanna Stark had known, too.

Elia ran her fingers through Rhaenys' dark hair. Much as she loved Aegon—and her heart throbbed with affection for the infant sleeping peacefully in his bed—Elia had always thrilled that her daughter took after herself. Once more, the Martells refused to bend to the dominion of dragons.

She continued to stroke through the little girl's curls as the wheelhouse drew ever closer to their new home. Perhaps that was not what Rhaegar intended, but Elia was not so sickly, so fragile, that she would not put her foot down. She would not entertain the idea of another trek, by land or sea. As soon as she had greeted her husband, she planned on telling him so.

Of course, when the convoy arrived at the Tower of Joy and Elia gratefully disembarked from her swaying, jolting confines, Rhaegar was nowhere to be seen.

Instead, the welcoming party consisted of two members of the Kingsguard—so this was where Sers Arthur and Oswell had disappeared to—flanking a slim slip of a woman. 

Lyanna Stark. 

Surely, though, given the way her middle had already begun to grow round and heavy, she was Lyanna Targaryen by now.

(Part of Elia doubted that Westeros would ever know this she-wolf as anything other than Lyanna Stark; there was too much of the North about her to be anything else.)

"Welcome," Rhaegar's new bride said once Elia had disembarked, leaving the children to sleep in the wheelhouse. Her voice was steady in spite of the way her fingers twisted in her swirling skirts, working sweaty creases into the fabric. Once that word was out, though all of Lyanna's poise crumbled to the dust at her feet. Her brow furrowed, mouth pinching in distress. "I— I don't know how I should greet you. Rhaegar— He didn't..."

It took a moment to formulate a response, even when it was clear no more explanation would come. 

There were many things Elia had heard about the Stark girl, even before the tourney at Harrenhal. Bruised though her pride had been at the slight, Lyanna Stark was made to be someone's Queen of Love and Beauty, why not a future king's?

But that beauty was sheathed in something more interesting than mere loveliness. 

That she was lovely was obvious; Rhaegar had never had much patience for the things that weren't. Obvious, too, was that even stripped of her northern furs and wools, hidden away in the dry mountains of Dorne, the wolf prowled on, it's fierceness only half-tamed.

Mostly, though, what was obvious to Elia was that she was just a girl. Young and lonely and lost. 

“Greetings, sister,” she said, drawing forth the strength that had kept her alive through the hours of labor and weeks of journeying. Elia stepped forward and drew Lyanna Stark, not her true sister but she'd never had anyone to bestow the title upon, into her arms. 

Cursed with wolf's blood she might be, Lyanna had little of the Northern sternness in her spine. Or maybe so far from home, it took little to thaw the ice in her blood. Whatever the cause, she nearly melted into Elia's embrace, small hands clutching at her shoulders and nearly refusing to release them. Her forehead pressed against Elia's chin, warm and smelling faintly of sweat and dust. It was a deeply familiar scent, one that made Elia reluctant to let go, too.

Whatever Elia had expected to find in the Tower of Joy, it was not this.

Eventually, the two women who had never before met pulled apart. 

Lyanna's gray eyes shone. Whether it was gratitude for relieving her solitary days or the mischief she was better known for, Elia could not say. She had a feeling that she would quickly learn to tell the difference. 

"I'm so glad you're here," she confessed, almost shy but earnest nonetheless. 

Elia could understand why. This was a girl accustomed to the indulgence of her father and brothers, to running wild through the forests of the North and following her heart where it led.  And it had led her here. Sequestered in the sweltering South, with only two white cloaks and their solemn vow to the crown for company, could not have been the romantic adventure Lyanna was promised. And Lyanna, unlike Elia herself, was clearly built for adventure.

Perhaps Elia would not be able to offer her much in the way of true adventure—she had so little experience of it herself, what could she tender that would captivate a wild wolf?—but she could give something steadier. Something perhaps more satisfying in the long run. She could offer care and companionship and only hope for an equal measure in return. It had not been enough for Rhaegar, not with his prophecied prince and the weight of entire kingdoms on his shoulders, but for Lyanna, it could be. 

Elia certainly hoped so. 

Better than hope, she would do everything in her power to ensure that it would.

So, she smiled, pushing away fatigue. The relief in the younger woman's face was well worth the effort. 

"I'm glad I came," Elia replied, weaving her fingers into Lyanna's and squeezing tight. It was both an assurance of her honesty and a promise. Of what, Elia could not put it into words, but she didn't need to. She only knew that it was a promise she would fight to keep with her very last breath.


End file.
